


Little Bites

by Serenhawk



Series: The Cockles Digest [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: And they talk A Lot, Angst, Cockles, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, Headcanon, Like Jen & Mish in a Linklater film but with less walking, M/M, POV Alternating, Pillow Talk, Polyamory, Schmoop, Sorry this got really long and contemplative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenhawk/pseuds/Serenhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-Four hours in The Big Apple was never going to be enough, especially when Jensen's mind was determined to play games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bites

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Aquielle, who kept my Cockles 'feels' alive in the JIB fandom fallout, and without whom I probably wouldn't have finished this. (She also writes lovely fic).
> 
> While reading the previous entries in this series is not necessary, they are in chronological/narrative order. 
> 
> This is a work of fiction. No disrespect intended to those whose names are used.
> 
> Apologies for invoking fandom memes.

_Prompted by this ([x](http://thegraceofserendipity.tumblr.com/post/89349357000/gunsjawlinesandhair-jared-jensen-and-misha-at)) series of photos taken the day before the 2014 CW Upfronts in New York City._

_Much of this was written the day the Upfronts took place, where this happened ([x](http://thegraceofserendipity.tumblr.com/post/85989343580/x)). It was supposed to be very short and whimsical because their expressions in the middle pic tickled my fancy. Somehow, as I was trying to conclude it, this turned into something much longer and rambling and introspective, influenced by the events and mood at JIB in Rome just over a week later._

 

___________________________________________

 

Jensen attempted to stretch his back inconspicuously, rolling his shoulders with a subtle twist. Standing here, bored but under scrutiny, was making his knee ache. Almost enough to distract him from the lingering sensations of being somewhat abused by a formidably desirous Misha confronting him at his door when he’d barely checked in; a coda to the early cross-continent flight spent dozing and stealthily toying with each other.

He shifted his weight between his feet, holding his breath as the tenderness chafed. _Yeah that had been a little rough_ , and definitely more man-handling than was either usual or necessary. But he’d discovered over the past six months that being pushed around was not something he could find a reason to object to. Misha had been… enthusiastic, zealous even. And Jensen _had_ been obliging, in the end, once he’d put up enough resistance to warrant castigation.

Although this was their second time on the East Coast in as many weeks they hadn’t had much in the way of private time recently, and with the summer convention circuit and the usual determination to maximise family investment, they wouldn’t be seeing much of each other outside of group obligations for a while. Hence Misha’s insistence on making the most of this short stint in the ‘Big Apple’. Which evidently meant ‘making the most’ of Jensen’s ass, in the literal sense if Misha’s assertion was to be believed upon licking it open that it was both firm and sweet.

Jensen dropped his focus to his shoes and did a mental double-take. There were still moments of incredulity regarding their relationship, emphasized by the recollections passing through his mind _at a time like this._ He rocked back on his heels and snuck a look to his right. Misha threw him a pointed glance back and cocked an eyebrow, and Jensen swore for the hundredth time that he was completely aware of what was running through his brain. He was no doubt taking great delight in being up here watching him trying to rearrange himself back into his frame after being planted and spread, pinned and prised apart. Jensen deliberately swept his eyes to the ceiling, forcing the smile away that threatened his already tenuous composure, and tried to replace it with something more akin to serious and disinterested.

He squared his shoulders again and felt a twinge. Yes he was certain now there were going to be bruises, especially from that vice-grip at the juncture of his shoulder and neck as he was held in place, and a pinch told him there would be another in Misha’s favorite place to bite him on his lower trapezius. He’d be surprised if he didn’t end up with permanent teeth etchings there, supposing he was lucky his wife was _just_ kinky enough to not mind. He didn’t mind either, if he was honest. In fact he’d be disappointed if there weren’t a few more kinks between them left to unearth.

Misha shifted beside him and he instinctively looked sideways again; sure enough the other man forced a slow exhale as his hands drifted to his middle to adjust his waistband before resting lightly on his hips. _Yeah Mish, you’re the Master_ , Jensen thought, _You don’t need to project it to the whole damn room._ Irritatingly his subconscious wasn’t on board with the admonishment as he fought to conceal the smile that wafted over his lips.

“You okay there?” Misha asked in a hushed tone out the side of his mouth.

“Shuddup,” he mumbled, eyes darting around the room.

“You just seem a little… uncomfortable.”

“No thanks to you, you dick,” he said under his breath. Dammit, don’t smile, _don’t smile_. He concentrated on Jared’s back and sucked in his lower lip.

“Oh, but you were thanking my dick an hour ago,” Misha whispered, swiveling a half turn to lean towards him whilst feigning an interest in the wings past Jensen’s left.

 _Fuck, Misha, stop pushing the boundaries for two fucking minutes_ he implored silently with the slightest shake of his head, more as a warning to his own amusement.

Jared finished reading the card in front of him and spun casually to join them, giving them a pointed glare.

“Guys, seriously,” Jared muttered as they were excused, much to Jensen’s relief.

Misha just let out an amused low hum as they turned to make their way off stage.

“Sorry,” Jensen hissed at his friend leading them out of earshot back to where they were to take a seat for the time being.  He winced involuntarily as he sat between them and hoped neither noticed, for differing reasons. Maybe there had been several slaps too, he recalled from the blur.

“ _I_ don’t care,” Jared said quietly, assuming his characteristic slouch. “I don’t know what you were saying, but I didn’t need to. Keep it under-wraps—I swear you two telegraph and you don’t even know it.”

“My bad,” Misha sang, crooking a grin. _Christ h_ _e was being a cocky asshole today_ Jensen noted. He might have to do something about that later.

Or maybe beat him at his own game. “Just the way I like it,” he intoned back, deadpan.

Misha’s soft gasp and Jared’s groan were roughly the reaction he was hoping for, although the effect was vastly diminished by the “Oww” that escaped him as he shuffled in his chair.

“Dude!” Jared spat through his teeth, running an exasperated hand through his hair.

Misha chuckled. The kind of smug chuckle Misha Collins was particularly adept at.

_This was going to be a long afternoon._

 

*****************************

 

Misha knew he was smiling a lot. He was weary—long flight, longer day and tomorrow was going to be almost as bad. But there was a bounce in his step and his heart he wasn’t manufacturing.

He’d been catching Jensen’s eye all evening. He couldn’t help it, the man just stood out wherever he went, and not just to him, Misha was well aware. But he did take an inordinate amount of satisfaction from being the one in the room Jensen kept catching with his own gaze; sometimes with the barest of smiles, other times a plea.  It was more often the latter, and he knew his friend wanted to get out of here more than he did. They’d done their duty all afternoon and throughout the evening, graciously shaking hands and making small talk. They knew most at the function and some were friends, in that temporary way you’re friendly with people you work with (or mostly for in this case) so it wasn’t an unpleasant evening, but overall it still felt like a treadmill of engage, smile, disarm, retreat, move on to the next target. Or _be_ the next one was probably more accurate. He could tell that was how Jensen was feeling anyway, as another look was cast his way. Time to get his man (his _man_? _Friend!_ ) out of the merry-go-round, for purely selfless reasons of course. Jared had already flaked, having the valid excuse of having had to cross the Atlantic and not just the continent. But Misha figured they could get away with it by now.

He excused himself from the conversation he was only giving his partial attention to and began to move across the room, but Jensen was intercepted by yet another suit. His own path was clear apart from a convenient server heading in the opposite direction, so he relieved her of a glass—one more for luck, as they say, though he did not feel lacking in good fortune.

He watched his friend over the rim of the flute as he sipped. He wasn’t one for espousing the physical attributes of people, or even in the habit of noticing them. Not that he couldn’t appreciate aesthetics, for he most certainly did. But the subtleties, quirks and intangibles were what honed his admiring attention on someone, as a rule. With Jensen there was the way his enviable physicality complimented an inner delicacy and allure that made him more exceptional than any simple outward beauty. It showed, for example, in the eyes that never failed to directly engage with whomever he was talking; eyes that might be intimidating in intensity if they weren’t accompanied by the wide - if controlled - smile that rarely failed to reach them. Of course he was probably biased at this point, given he was lucky enough to invariably be on the receiving end of a variation of that smile that was only ever for him. And the fact he was now cognizant of the undeniable truth his feelings for Jensen rivaled those for the few he loved most in his life.

He heard his friend let out a cordial chuckle as he slid his fingers self-consciously through his beard in an action that Misha knew was a comfort reward. He had an elegant sensuality to him that Misha had come to realize Jensen was only partially aware of - when he wasn’t acting anyway, or too self-aware and posturing. It was in the way he adjusted his stance and how he inhabited the space around him, and even in his nervous gestures he tried to hide.  Misha could happily watch him for hours, like the deliberate movements of his hands for example, with the fingers often held ‘just so’. He was doing it now in fact, distractedly watching as Jensen explained some point; which led him to absently ponder the lovely sprinkle of freckles across the back of his hands. That thought shunting his brain along the track to thinking how sublime those freckled knuckles looked as they gripped the sheets earlier in the day… and the headboard… oh and also the desk in Jensen’s room.

Fuck it had been hot. He hadn’t meant for it to be so desperate. But being far away, sans families, for such a limited time in a drought of secluded opportunities—well, both his heart and his libido had gotten carried away. Not that he received any complaints or protests when he’d stalked into Jensen’s room, ridding him of clothes before claiming his mouth, then various other parts of his friend in quick succession. It wasn’t the kind of sex they normally had. But upon musing over it, maybe they should make it more commonplace given how his dick was right this moment threatening to join in the reminiscing.

He caught a microscopic flick of green towards him again – a split second containing a jumble of truths and appeals. Misha put down his glass and squared himself for the rescue, pacing towards his friend.

“Hey, uh, Hi! My apologies, but I just need to borrow this man for a moment, if you don’t mind,” he said authoritatively, sliding his fingers through the familiar crease of Jensen’s elbow. Jensen politely excused himself and stepped alongside him, allowing Misha to guide him with a hand low on his back.

“Thanks,” his friend said in a low voice.

“You’re entirely welcome.”

He led his friend from the room and into a hallway. He didn’t know where they were going, he just suddenly and desperately wanted to still himself and breathe in Jensen. It was an instinct that was increasingly familiar.

They rounded an abrupt corner where it seemed deserted - an adjoining service corridor he guessed - the lighting dimmed and the noise of the echoing of the crowd lost. “What are we doing?” Jensen asked suspiciously as Misha stopped them both once they were away from the main thoroughfare.

“I just needed to do this,” Misha answered, sliding a hand under his friend’s jacket to apply pressure to the small of his back, subtly jerking their hips to meet and their faces close enough to share a breath.

Jensen stared at him and faintly shook his head. “Not the place or time, Mish”, he whispered. 

Misha just tilted his and raised his brows, his entire front reveling in the inevitable sparking proximity and warmth of his friend’s. They were too close if anyone were to see them, he knew that, but not irreparably incriminating. So it was a surprise when Jensen gently lowered his mouth to his own, brushing the softest touch of lips before tipping his forehead to rest it on Misha’s.

“Think we can leave?” Jensen asked in a breathy whisper.

“I think we can get away with it, we’ve whored ourselves enough for one day, don’t you agree?” he returned, pulling back and opening his eyes to his friend’s still closed ones. Something in the way Jensen held his head made him seem overwhelmingly vulnerable, not unlike the flashing moments he’d appear much younger despite the laugh lines and thickening auburn beard.  Misha wasn’t sure why that made him _need_ to kiss him but he surged forward, Jensen’s lips caving unquestioningly under his. He wanted to push him back into the wall right there but tempered himself, drawing the instant fire back inwards. He abandoned his friend’s mouth as fast as he’d commandeered it, pausing only to tug Jensen’s lower lip and sink his teeth into the inside flesh as he let go.

Jensen’s eyes sprang open, but there was only a multiplicity of want evident in them, though Misha wasn’t sure arousal was included. “I think we should go, yeah? Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, knitting his brows together and stepping back.

“Umm, yep, go—lets go,” was Jensen’s hurried agreement, as Misha found this time he was the one spun and guided by a purposeful hand back the way they’d come and then on outside, pausing only for a few nods and politely dismissive farewells on the way. 

Once in the night air the vibration and flux of the city reinvigorated him.  He looked to his friend. “Walk, or cab?” He was suddenly taken with the idea of walking with his man ( _f_ _riend_ , what the actual fuck?) the six or seven blocks to the hotel in the bustle of arguably the world’s greatest metropolis.

“We could have stayed here—swanky place, would’ve been easier,” Jensen supplied, looking behind them at the sumptuous building they’d just left.

Misha’s scoff was curtailed as he caught his friend’s suggestive brow-wriggle. “Hmm. What’s come over you, Mr Secrecy-at-all-costs?” he quizzed, searching Jensen’s glinting stare but finding no riposte. “So?” he prompted again.

Jensen scanned the street before focusing back on him, scrolling his eyes down Misha’s length then back to his face in a gesture at once commonplace and penetrating. “Cab, definitely,” his friend answered.

The common itch to close the gap between them surfaced. ‘Not complaining,’ Misha thought.

 

*******************************

 

Jensen watched the lights slide by outside the taxi window for a few minutes before his eyelids dropped. He crossed his arms and let his chin slump to his chest. One way or another it had been a taxing day.

He felt a dull thud as Misha back-handed his upper arm. “Hey, old man,” his friend accused.

Jensen let out a grunt but kept his eyes closed.

“We should _do_ something,” Misha urged, more upbeat than he had any right to be.

Jensen opened one eye. “Like what?”

“I don’t know—we’re in New York, you and me! We should be doing… New York things.” Misha shrugged and made a vague waving gesture to presumably encompass everything outside the car, then looked back at him with a gentle smile. His friend sighed and inched his hand over to rest lightly against Jensen’s thigh.

Jensen shuffled slightly in his seat and moved his hand over his Misha’s, slowly so as not to draw attention, and interlaced their fingers.

“In light of our _obligations—_ “ Jensen tried to transmit the ambiguity he intended with his stare; he wholeheartedly felt their time alone here was too precious to fritter away, “I think it prudent that we call it a night.”

Misha returned his gaze, narrowing his eyes before his mouth turned up at one corner.

“You _are_ turning into an old man, aren’t you?” he said in a tone that only pretended to be mocking.

Jensen suddenly had a vision of himself aged, pottering around and determinedly finishing crosswords, despite not ever doing them before. He didn’t really have a clue what the reality would be like, but getting older didn’t scare him, especially if it was shared with those close to him. The image of a much older and grayer Misha came to him unbidden; preparing a meal alongside him, drinking a wine together on a porch seat overlooking the ocean, his friend’s head on his shoulder and HOLY FUCK where the Hell is this coming from?

He sucked at the inside of his mouth below his lip where it was tender from the interlude in the hallway. Maybe that was what had set it off? He’d had an acute moment of longing to be far away, to shed his skin, curl up and sink into his friend in a way that was becoming altogether too natural - there were times when Misha touched him and it was like having a mainline of honey laced with heroin. And then there was the predatory look Misha had given him that, frankly, did something to his insides he was on the brink of being ashamed of, whilst simultaneously having the curious effect of making him feeling instantly composed. He still didn’t understand it, or any of this whole thing, and he’d certainly never asked for it. The fact that it defied any explanation available to him made it both frightening and enticing. Throwing away your accepted ideals and submitting to whatever fucking kismet was at play was like that, he supposed. He’d had to submit, as any resistance or analysis either drove him into complete confusion, or sent him into a spiral of ‘I shouldn’t be here’ and ‘I shouldn’t _have_ this’, and he couldn’t afford to let those thoughts gain traction, not when he was still trying to find an even keel after the past year. It had been an emotional one full of massive but draining highs, and disorientating lows. Even though it had been a month since they wrapped there were moments he still felt he was trying to scrub Dean out of his pores, and he’d been left with an odd disconnect from parts of himself.  Misha had quickly become an out, though he always had been in a way - a place of refuge and solace and revival. Even now, when he would like to bask in the summer and friends and family and fatherhood, it always ended up being a medley of making up for lost time peppered with commitments. But Misha--  

Jensen took a deep breath and tried to haul his thoughts back on track. It wasn’t the images of his older self that caused a tremble in his spine he realized, it was the intense clench in the vicinity of his heart that went with them. He’d had visions of his wife in the same context - when you marry someone you kind of anticipate spending your life together. But now, when he imagined possible futures, there was a Misha-shaped hole if their lives should take divergent paths. Which they were bound to do sooner or later, they wouldn’t be working together forever after-all.  And it wasn’t just Misha; there was Vic and the all their kids whom he assumed would grow up with each other and _fuck me…_ why was the realization how closely the multiple layers in their lives were becoming intertwined was only just dawning?

He’d so far viewed the whole situation as a clear dichotomy; there was ‘real life’ where they were friends - close friends sure, but within the wider context of their families and acquaintances. And then there was their private bubble when they were… whatever they were.

But he was suddenly aware the roots of this... thing, this reinterpretation of _them_ had delved deeper than that, burrowing their way past the enfolding harbor he’d begun to take shelter in, where everything was Misha and nothing hurt, and had seeped right into his foundations. He knew it shouldn’t, but the realization made him feel uneasy and vulnerable.

He felt Misha squeeze his hand and he turned to see a hesitant question on his friend’s features.

‘Fuck it’ he decided, trying to shake it off and steer his brain back to the default mantra of ‘just go with the flow, don’t analyze the Misha thing’. It had stood him in good stead so far, despite going against a habit of a lifetime.

A haphazard impulse hit him and he lifted their loosely clasped hands to pull the back of Misha’s to his mouth.  Misha’s eyes widened for a moment before softening, and as Jensen held the sharp blue the astonishing thought “Yeah, I hope you’re still around when I’m old,” tolled like a softly struck bell within the confines of his head.

Perhaps in protest to the sentimentality his brain was cavalierly throwing around, another propulsion snaked its way in. He turned his friend’s hand over, nuzzling the palm then licking deliberately and slowly with the modest point of his tongue along the side of Misha’s middle finger, before sucking it firmly into his mouth.

Misha’s eyes flicked to the front seat but Jensen didn’t care about being seen. He rolled his tongue and sucked again before drawing his teeth back along the length to the tip and then biting down hard at the first joint. When Misha’s eyes darted back to his they were full of heat, and something else Jensen couldn’t pinpoint.

He rested his lips on the pad of the finger he’d assaulted for a moment and then let their hands gently rest back on the seat between them, taking no small delight in the shaky inhale of his friend as he remanded his complete attention. Turning the tables on Misha was always cause for minor celebration.

The moment was broken when the car pulled to a halt. Neither said anything as they exited and made their way through the lobby, Jensen swiping his card for the lift.

“My place or yours?” Misha asked, still seeming a little ruffled.

Jensen tipped his head and tried to hold back a smirk. “Yours I think. Mine kinda got trashed earlier, and asking to have your room serviced an hour after you arrive isn’t a great look.”

Misha’s mouth scrunched to one side in a sly smile then lifted his brows. “I have to say that’s the most hospitable welcome to New York I’ve ever had,” he gloated.

Jensen rolled his eyes. It wasn’t easy to tickle someone viciously while they wore a suit but he managed to make Misha pay for that remark for the rest of the ride to their floor.

 

************************************

 

Misha rinsed out the toothpaste, flicked the light and padded out of the bathroom to find his friend already in the bed, looking for all intents and purposes asleep.  He’d belatedly joined Jensen in the shower for a mutual soap-down that was much more perfunctory than erotic, and had lingered after his friend had left savoring the firm spray. He was carrying some unwanted tension across his shoulders, which were sagging after the long day.

Whilst he enjoyed the jaunting around (bar the interminable hours spent in airports and fuselages) and the bombardment of interactions, there were times he just wanted to press the pause button and get off for a while. Having a few days where the primary obligation was sleep wouldn’t go amiss – he was feeling his age, or maybe a little older since thirty-nine was hardly decrepit. They’d planned a little downtime in Italy but in the inevitable exotic chaos it was hardly guaranteed, and overall this month in particular was rather manic. Well, _life_ was rather manic. He would have to center himself and find the energy from somewhere.  

He dumped the robe, lifted the covers and arranged himself on his side underneath.

It was unacceptable to have his younger companion pass out on him, despite his own body being of the opinion that consciousness was overrated right about now.  He stretched to lightly run his big toe back and forth over the sole of Jensen’s foot. He’d discovered early on whilst generously massaging Jensen’s feet he had a particular ticklish sensitivity there, and Misha was quite prepared to exploit it at every opportunity. Jensen knew it too, which made the advantage that much more reliable, though this time Jensen only weakly kicked him away with an apathetic noise.

He rested his head on his bicep, curling his forearm over his head as his eyes drifted over the profile of the man sharing the bed with him. _His_ man apparently - now that was totally fucking weird. He’d never referred to any partner in his life in such a proprietary way. His subconscious was not always his best ally but it generally made up for its subversive tendencies with largess. It was, however, well off the reservation with that one and he shied away from further analysis. At least for now, when _his man_ was tucked up in bed with him and his thoughts were better occupied elsewhere.

His eyes settled on Jensen’s mouth and his mind drifted back to the car shortly before. Jesus Christ when Jensen decided to turn on the seduction it was like a force of fucking nature, amplified when it was mixed with PDA. Misha had forgotten his own name for a good five minutes after that finger thing.  Just recalling the moment now landed a punch of arousal in his gut so strong the hollow warmth almost made him feel sick; a craving for connection suffused with desire that caught him completely off guard.

Misha swayed onto his back for a moment to level out. Intense emotions were not anything he tried to avoid, but there were times ones associated with Jensen left him without gravity, not least because they frequently blindsided him from a still obscured origin.

He rolled to drape himself over his friend’s back and rested his cheek between Jensen’s shoulder blades, allowing their inhales to align and tension to bleed out between the press of skin. He felt Jensen relax too as he raised his head to swap cheeks on the pillow. A “Hey” came as a muffled grunt, which he echoed back softly with a smile before lifting himself to begin pressing a series of delicate kisses to the freckles littering the shoulders underneath him. He crept backwards and brushed his lips down his friend’s spine to the dip in his back, then pointed the tip of his tongue to trace small circles across Jensen’s hips, concluding each one with a kiss. Eventually he moved back to the center and traced a slow trail, pressing a lightly teasing tongue into the cleft of his friend’s ass to reach closer to the anus with each lick before flicking to the top.

Jensen dragged his breath which was all Misha needed to increase the pressure, gently pulling the cheeks aside as he licked the full length of the valley between and back in one long wet swipe. His friend made a soft whine as he repeated the gesture, lingering over the pucker as he went. Jensen’s hips bucked and he pushed back, but Misha thwarted the movement, sinking his teeth into the sphere of his friend’s ass to follow with sucking heat. Jensen hissed but Misha just growled an authoritative “stay” before driving his tongue across Jensen’s hole once more, eliciting a satisfying whimper.

He returned to soothing wet caresses but was disrupted by Jensen mewling “dammit Mish” as he abruptly turned over, brushing fingers through the hair over Misha’s ear. He looked to catch Jensen’s eyes but they were closed, a small frown playing above them but his mouth softly parted. Misha bowed his head as his friend roughly gripped his hair, needing no other invitation to trail his tongue up the length of his sluggish penis and then roll it over the head.  

He got no small thrill from going down on Jensen. If you’d have asked him a year ago that at this point in his life he’d soon be putting significant practice into delivering the perfect blow job he probably would have died laughing, but it was, now, a source of inexhaustible gratification. Well, he could qualify that with it being about delivery to one man, as a lot of the pleasure came from seeing exactly what it did _to Jensen_. The writhing accompanied by copious obscenities from his friend the act seemed to spawn ricocheted to make him feel as dirty as fuck.  He speculated that for Jensen, something about it kept him wholly within himself; that allowing Misha to _give_ him that pleasure forced him to utterly accept that they were involved in this physical relationship, oddly more-so than when Jensen went down on him - which he did, with admirable results.

This contrasted to when they fucked, which seemed to Misha to be more something of a transcendent experience for Jensen; maybe because it usually occurred within the context of one of their ‘games’, though that was hardly an adequate term to describe the psycho-sexual pilgrimage they’d happened upon. Misha had ‘played’ at variety of roles in the bedroom over the years, and he had already known his inquisitive and provocative nature lent towards dominance. There were probably other reasons too, like the lack of certainty in his early life - he had yet to devote much thought to it. But that he and Jensen had slipped into a hitherto unexplored dynamic so naturally was something of a revelation to them both. For Jensen in particular, since it afforded him a freedom he hadn’t known he was lacking.

He absorbed the bulk of his friend’s cock into his mouth and held it, applying gentle pressure and the slowest of massages with his tongue. It slowly swelled and firmed against the inside of his cheek, mirroring the reaction of his own which was spurred on by the low noises escaping his companion. Once his mouth was struggling to contain it he hollowed he cheeks and gave a handful of long slow hard sucks drawing in closer to the root each time, and was rewarded with an incoherent breathy string featuring his name and variations on ‘fuck’ from further up the bed. He swirled his tongue around the girth as his mouth receded and began repeating the pattern, listening to his friend’s sharp gasps and sighs. He could rely on Jensen being responsive.

“Hey, come ‘ere,” Jensen interrupted hoarsely, sliding his hand behind Misha’s ear.

He released the flesh from his mouth, dragging his teeth feather-lightly over the head as he did. “What’s wrong, I thought I was doing some of my best work?” he answered uncertainly. Jensen was usually defenseless in the face of what he referred to as Misha’s ‘freaky gymnastic tongue’.

His friend let out of a conflicted moan. “Just come up here, I don’t… I don’ wanna come.”

Misha huffed and cocked his head. “You don’t want to come? Everyone _wants_ to come, what the fuck is that about?” He paused before nosing along the side of Jensen’s erection. “You know your cock is telling me otherwise.”

“Yeah well, as people keep reminding me I’m all grown up, and that means I’m not always ruled by my dick.”

“Hmm… life’s full of dashed hopes and expectations, isn’t it?” He pressed his lips together and nipped the skin under the head.

“ Mish--“ Jensen’s plaintive growl made him focus.

“Are you having a moment?” he asked after a pause.

“Yes, come here asshole.”

He crawled up Jensen’s torso to straddle lightly over his hipbones, resisting the urge to grind his own reasonably interested hard-on against the firm stomach it rested on. He leaned on the heels of his hands above his friend’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. The light was meager, but Misha could see that air of fragility in his expression again. It was mildly concerning.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

“You’re not going anywhere are you?” his friend asked, almost defensively, running his palms up Misha’s thighs to cup his hips.

Misha couldn’t help frowning. “Well… I’m going to Europe tomorrow--“ He wasn’t trying to be facetious but he was beginning to feel confused, and suspicious about Jensen’s headspace.

“Mish—“

“Jen, what’s going on… is this about our tryst earlier? Did I take it too far?” He was suddenly worried he’d overstepped some boundary he wasn’t aware of. He’d come to learn Jensen’s mood could be erratic after sex, tending towards needy, but he’d _seemed_ okay throughout the afternoon. But then it was difficult to tell with him – at times there were so many layers of concealment or apparent openness it was impossible to tell which was which.

“Tryst? You ripped open my corset and plundered me against the hay in the barn… what century are you from?” Jensen scoffed dryly.  

“Now there’s a thought—“ he noted abstractly as he pondered the buffet of delights in that image.

Jensen ignored him. “Besides,” he continued smugly, “I’d say you ‘took it’ just the perfect amount earlier,” he finished with a flick of his brows before biting his bottom lip. The fucking little shit was doing that deliberately, combining filth with the pretense of diffidence.

Misha hummed. “You referring to my method, length or stamina?” he asked with a smirk before deciding to appropriate Jensen’s bottom lip for his own intent, lowering his mouth to suck it against his teeth. They mutually relaxed into a kiss that evolved from teasing to tender to devout, ardency competing with lust low in Misha’s gut as their tongues grazed and Jensen’s fingers moved idly up his sides to land on shoulder and neck, leaving a trail of enlivened skin in their wake.

He reluctantly pulled away and saw his friend’s eyes cloud over as they followed his. “Okay, now you’re worrying me, what is it Jen?” he asked roughly.

Jensen took in a long breath. “Nothin’, never mind,” he eventually dismissed.

“Oh no you don’t,” he challenged, leaning away to swiftly capture Jensen’s hands. He planted them backwards against the bed to hold his friend's arms splayed and fixed his gaze on the challenging eyes inches below his own.  He would have to get to the bottom of this otherwise he wasn’t going to sleep. And he really needed to sleep.

He decided to cut to the chase. “What do you need me to say?”

He felt his companion bristle under him. “I don’t _need_ you to say anything,” Jensen griped, heaving at him in a lukewarm attempt to dislodge him. Misha squeezed his knees to Jensen’s ribs and reinforced his weight through his hands.  He was too tired to deal with one of Jensen’s pout-fests;  any disadvantage of strength he made up for in resolve, and he knew the signs well enough by now as well as how to deal with them.

“Jensen,” he started steadily, “Something’s on your mind, but I can’t _read_ it.”  Jensen returned his stare but broke it after a few moments, looking like he was in debate.

Misha softened a little. “What are you feeling Jen? Clearly something… when you feel too much you don’t feel in control and then you get pissy. And I’m not here for pissy.”  Oops, he probably shouldn’t go all psychoanalytic on him right now, he generally balked at that.

Jensen turned a vague scowl on him then tensed and pushed against him again before deflating. “Why are you here?” he mumbled, looking away.

Misha couldn’t believe it. “What?” he asked, more sharply than he intended. “I thought that was obvious.”

Jensen's thin gaze flicked back, and now Misha felt deflated. He bowed to let his forehead sag onto Jensen’s shoulder and closed his eyes, trying to clear his spinning thoughts as they attempted to track what might have happened in the last hour. “Jay you’re giving me whiplash,” he muttered, brushing his lips across his friend’s clavicle and resisting the urge to nip and claim, and maybe punish at this point.

“Don’t call me that,” Jensen sulked.

“Why not, everyone else calls you that.”

“Well, genius, _you’re_ not everyone else. You only used it ‘cause you’re pissed at me.”

“I’m not pissed at you. I’m just trying to work out what’s going on with you. I feel like I’m walking on quicksand right now,” he admitted painfully.

He looked up and found the green eyes again, hoping for explanation or appeasement. Finding neither he decided to take the reassertion route. He rocked back and re-positioned Jensen’s hands together over his head with deliberate roughness.

“Jensen,” he demanded evenly, “tell me what’s going on in that enigmatic brain of yours or I’ll be forced to take radical action.”

As he’d hoped, his friend went slack under him and closed his eyes, brows pinching with small twitches. He waited while Jensen came back to himself.

“Are you—this is more than just fun to you, right?” his friend asked, eventually looking at him. _Into_ him.

It was his turn to feel naked, though he wasn't sure why. “Jen, what--?”

“I mean this isn’t some relationship experiment, is it? Something to look back on and think ‘well that was nice while it lasted’ or whatever—“

Misha all but flinched as his friend’s stare impeached him. This was…fuck this isn’t what he was expecting. Not that he was expecting anything; he’d blithely thought they were on the same page even if they didn’t know the book. He vainly tried to sift for any catalyst for this line of conversation, and how Jensen needed him to answer. Shit, what even was the answer?

He decided to address it systematically. “Whilst this is undeniably fun”, he stopped short of qualifying it with an unhelpful ‘mostly’ despite the oxymoronic circumstance, “this definitely goes beyond the realms of experimental, for me.”

The man pinned under him just continued his searching gaze, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “I said right at the start, Jensen, I don’t have any expectations of what this is… or why… or how it should work. But I thought you knew I take this very seriously, and how I feel about this—“ He swallowed. “And you.” He emphasized the last sentence with another forceful push on his friend’s upturned palms before letting them go. He leaned back to sit upright, still straddling Jensen’s abdomen, for the sake of his back and to try alleviating the sudden tensity in the air.

Jensen rubbed a palm across his forehead.  “’M sorry,” he murmured. “I guess my brain has been doing some thinking against my authorization.”

Misha had to smile at that surprise and strange admission. Jensen followed with a dull smile of his own and they both eased slightly, but he was still wary.

“You care to elaborate my friend? ‘Cause I’m both curious and confused,” he asked gently.

Jensen sighed, low and hard. “I think—I think I’m kinda addicted to how… limitless, this feels. Relationships—I’m used to knowing the rules, and what I need and the other needs, and what I can give, and _why_ we’re both in it.”

He paused, and Misha gave a small nod. He rested a palm over his friend’s heart before he realized what he was doing.

“But _this_ , I don’t have that, it’s like a kind of freefall, and I—I’m attracted to that, but scared that I’m attracted to it, I guess. Because I don’t know who I _am_ in this sometimes,” he finished with a shrug. “It’s not like I don’t spend enough time fighting for a share of my own head,” he added, bemused. Or self-deprecating, Misha inferred. Jensen caught his eye. “At the same time, not knowing who I am is the best fucking feeling—“

“Okay,” was all he offered finally, reluctant to derail the moment. It was rare for Jensen to be open like this. They seldom talked ‘feelings’ in fact, they didn’t seem to need to. But he was still struggling to decipher his meaning.

“Anyway, I guess—I don’t know. This isn’t what I expected. I dunno what I expected… but Mish, you—“ Jensen breathed deeply. “Your _soul_ speaks to mine on a level I don’t understand. And I don’t know what that _means_ ,” he finished in a tone that seemed more frustrated than anything else, though his eyes were pleading.

Misha was stunned, and found it hard to swallow. Their uneven positions felt wrong, so he extricated himself to lie facing his friend. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that statement – in large part because what Jensen had neatly and vividly articulated resonated in a way that wasn’t wholly comfortable. He’d never thought of it like that.

He studied his friend’s profile again. “Does it have to ‘mean’ something?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Jensen rolled his head to look at him. “I—I _want_ it to mean something, I guess.” He sighed again. “I kinda need it to, I don’t know why.”

“Hmm,” was all Misha could return, studying his friend’s face. His eyes landed on the scar on his chin he liked running his tongue over, that was now half obscured by hair. He really had no clue if there was an answer. It was the feeling, he supposed, that had led them here. A feeling intensified over their time together - that something was driving them almost, in part because their joyful affection and, well, _intensity_ for each other often felt irrational and inexplicable. It wasn’t like any experience of love he’d had before; it wasn’t a desperate thing, but it was a passion that was meaningful, even if the meaning itself wasn’t obvious. Whilst he believed in a lot of things fate had never really been one of them, but there was almost something… esoteric. Fuck, now he was tying himself up in knots trying to understand, and he was too drained to get his head around it.

“Sometimes I wonder if you feel the same, I guess. We don’t talk about it, and sometimes it just hits me… like a few months back when all that contract stuff happened and I wasn’t sure if you’d be back and I realized how much I wanted you there, ‘n needed you,” Jensen finished in a mumble.

Misha was surprised. And warmed. “There wasn’t any doubt I was going to be there, we were just playing negotiation games. If there was any chance I wouldn't be back I would have discussed it with you. You're a big part of why I _want_ to be there.”

“Yeah but you didn’t _tell_ me any of that,” his friend answered forcefully.

Jensen turned quickly to lunge over him, flipping him on his back to find himself in a reversal, largely immobilized with his friend looming over him.

“Just ‘cause we have this freaky connection and freakier gay thing doesn’t mean I know what you think or how you feel, just like you don’t know mine,” his friend chided.

Despite his tone Jensen’s eyes again held their customary warmth, and Misha relished the abrupt change even if his… his… _whatever_ Jensen was, seemed intent on giving him a brain hemorrhage with his quicksilver moods. He went limp, scanning Jensen’s face and trying not to hover too long over the mouth he suddenly wanted to ransack. Even at his most confounding, or maybe even because of it, this man made him feel the most extraordinary accumulation of _need_.

“You should be aware, that I am motherfucking mind-blowingly acutely besotted with you,” he finally offered earnestly. “And I am definitely not going anywhere.”

His throat felt thick suddenly. “Jesus Jen, you… you’re a cornerstone of my life now.” The weight of everything he felt was crushing and his lungs heaved. He wanted to look away, but for once he was the one stripped, raw and cradled in invisible binds.

A smile played across Jensen’s lips. “I guess that will have to do,” he returned in that assumed cantankerous way that Misha foolishly found adorable.

The mouth he craved dropped lower and he rose to meet it. Thirst, devotion, yearning; a raw torrent hijacked any conscious thought as he let Jensen slide his tongue just under his top lip and flick inside to brush over his. He arched his back to secure as much contact along their lengths as possible, needing weight, pressure, abrasion. Jensen drew his shoulders back and released Misha’s arms, who used the freedom lock his fingers behind his friend’s ears and pull him harder into the grasping wet kiss.

“Fuck,” he grinned against Jensen’s lips after a long moment, breathless and heady.

“Mmm I wanna come with you so bad right now,” was the husky response that rumbled right into his mouth, eliciting a fresh wave fire directly aimed at his dick.

The growl he made morphed into a feeble whine as his friend ducked to nip along his jaw ending in a lick behind his ear while he ground against him. “You flirt,” he accused.

Jensen pulled back and leered. “I think we’re a little past flirting.”

“What do you mean? This is standard flirting for me.” It was only a slight exaggeration.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. So I’m not special huh?” Jensen gave him one of his blinding grins, the kind he knew very well worked like voodoo on Misha.

He resisted, rolling his eyes. “Now you’re just fishing.”

His friend hoisted his bottom lip and gave a conceding nod, and just like that he felt back on solid ground again.

Their breathing slowed, and Misha savored the dancing eyes above him. He reached to brush a thumb across Jensen’s lower lip. “We should go to sleep,” he proposed reluctantly, motivated by both prudence and the suspicion if they had sex right now he’d fucking cry through any orgasm.

“Hmm. We should.” Jensen shifted to the side and pushed at his ribs. “Roll over.”

Misha acquiesced without thinking, softening into the body that curled behind him and covering the hand that rested on his thigh with his palm. He let their breaths sync for a few minutes, mulling over their conversation as the fury of arousal ebbed.

“So, you need me to tell you I love you?” he risked eventually.

“Yes, indulge me,” was mumbled against his shoulder after a pause.

“Tell you or show you?” he qualified.

“Surprise me.”

Misha wormed his way back to snuggle, yes, _snuggle_ closer. The greater contact he had the more restful he felt. It was a simple truth.

“Okay, but you’re responsible for coming up with explanations for receiving flowers from me.”

Jensen expelled a soft huff. “Maybe you should just stick with telling me.” He sounded half asleep already.

He waited until the wafts of breath at his back evened and slowed.

“I can’t imagine life without this, you know. I don’t ever want to,” he whispered, barely audible. He didn’t really know he meant it until the words willed themselves out into the room.

The answering squeeze of the arm the wrapped over his chest was all he needed as his lids fell and his mind began to detach from the day.

 

***************************************

 

Jensen heard a tap on the door as he gave himself one last square of his tie and smooth-down and checked the time. They were beginning to run close.

He opened the door and Misha strode in without any invitation. Jensen let the door thud behind them as he turned to his friend. It had only been an hour or so since they parted but warmth still radiated through him at his arrival.

“Wow, look at you,” Misha complimented with a nodding grin. “It’s probably already been brought to your attention, but _you_ are a very handsome man.” Jensen acknowledged it with a little spin on his heels.

Misha stepped up to slide a hand to the small his back and pulled them together in a repeat of last night’s gesture, closing any space between them from the waist down. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you don’t mind that coming from me,” his friend added softly.

Jensen smiled at him, only inches away. It was true - it was a familiar refrain, but it meant something completely different to him when his wife, or Misha, endorsed it.

“Seriously, I could eat you, right now,” his friend continued, nuzzling his nose under Jensen’s chin before nipping forcefully into the hair along his jaw, where it wouldn’t show.

Jensen couldn’t bring himself to protest. He just let out a soft grunt that was more permissive than anything.

His friend stepped back with what was almost a whine. “Hey, wait,” Jensen protested before they were arms-length apart. “Let me just—“ He straightened Misha’s tie; it didn’t really need it, he just suddenly hated the impending distance.

“There you go, scruff.” He dropped his hands with a half-smile.

“So, you ready?” Misha asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, aware it lacked any conviction.

“You okay?” his friend asked in return.

“Yeah,” he repeated. “Just, you know—“ he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Misha echoed. “I know you look forward to doing this stuff,” he said with generous sarcasm.

Jensen just sighed. While that was true, it was more to do with the return of the sense of restless urgency he’d been feeling, and parting from his… his _Misha_.

“We better say goodbye. The aftermath of these things get messy, and you might get whisked off to the airport before I see you again.” He almost felt a pout coming on.

“You’ll be seeing me all morning.” Misha said with artificial brightness.

“Not _seeing you_ seeing you.” He said, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean, asshole.”

Misha was the one to sigh this time. “Yeah, you _do_ see me,” he stated with a kind of edgy resignation, not to mention a complete change of subject. “Fucker.”

Jensen knew exactly what he meant, for a change. And was both startled and humbled by the truth in it. “Yeah, I do,” he replied gently, adding “Shithead,” for good measure. He gave Misha a broad smile that contained a dash of self-satisfaction as his chest swelled and seized, struggling to contain a rush of feeling.

Fuck, he was so gone. Misha was the fucking sun and his orbit was permanently fixed. He knew now though, that the reverse was true for his friend. He wasn’t sure he _believed_ it, which was another matter entirely and one that had more to do with him, he was sorely aware.

Misha began to take a step away again, looking almost uncomfortable under his stare, which made Jensen smirk.

There was a knock at the door. “You ready?” came Jared’s impatient voice.

“Coming!” bellowed Misha before clearing his throat.

“Uh-ah,” Jensen protested, grabbing Misha’s altogether too-purple tie, pulling it slightly askew again but frankly not giving a shit in his sudden state of conviction. His friend froze and he stepped close again, cupping Misha’s jaw with both hands and swiping his thumbs over the along the lines of his cheeks.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, before dipping his head and molding his lips to the cushion of his friend’s.

“Bye,” Misha mouthed back once they parted.

“Be seein' you,” Jensen muttered before planting a more insistent kiss, hardening his mouth and licking Misha’s lower lip between presses.

“Later,” Misha returned in a parting moment, hovering his mouth over Jensen’s.

“Come-on, guys?” Jared urged from outside the door.

Jensen lifted his head. “Coming, just a sec,” he assured, before laying one last soft kiss on his friend. It was both tender and uncompromising at once, and he was reluctant to let it end. Misha pulled away first and breathed into his neck for a moment, before indulging in one last nestle of his mouth in Jensen’s beard.

“Hhm, _edible,_ ” he declared once more, emphasizing the assessment with his teeth.

Jensen huffed. Wearing hidden teeth marks from Misha tickled his fancy more than he would ever admit to anyone, Misha especially.

“Guys!” Jared all but shouted.

“Coming!” they both returned in unison.

“Ready to go bend over for the brass again?” Misha asked with the dead-pan tone he used to cover up the inevitable mixture of flippancy and innuendo .

Jensen scoffed and eyed his friend with a direct look. “I’ve done enough bending over for my superiors lately, but yeah, let’s do this,” he finished as they turned. He shrugged his shoulders into his jacket several times as they walked to the door, steeling himself for the next few hours of being on show.

He turned to Misha with his hand on the door handle. “So I’ll guess I’ll see ya round,” he said lightly before dropping his lips to his friend’s forehead.

Misha was smiling as Jensen pulled back. “You couldn’t be rid of me now if you tried.”

“I can hear you, ya know, hurry the fuck up,” Jared hissed through the door.

“Threat or promise?” Jensen asked teasingly, ignoring the protest outside.

“You can _take it_ any way you want to,” Misha winked in return.

“GUYS!” Jared rasped in exasperation.

The grin on Misha’s face mirrored his own. “Coming!” they both chimed again, as Jensen swung open the door.

The epic eye-roll on his best friend made Misha giggle. It was one of Jensen’s favorite sounds, that made walking down the hall and into the day on the sugary side of bittersweet.

 

**FIN**

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am a disgrace. 9k of Explicit-rated words and not a single orgasm. I'm so sorry.


End file.
